Doublecrossed
by Shadowed Shinobi
Summary: Fight or flight? Seventeen chooses flight. Rather than die at the hands of Mirai Trunks, he escapes to the normal future, where the world went on without the androids. To pass the time, Seventeen finds a new source of amusement: Trunks.
1. Facing Facts

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z. Wish I did, but I don't.

Introduction: Thank you for reading **Double-Crossed**, my first full-length fanfiction. I hope you enjoy it. Please note that this piece will contain violence, death, crude language, and other comparable situations. Also, later chapters may contain yaoi (romantic situations between two guys). But that comes later.

Without further ado, enjoy!

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**Chapter One: Facing Facts**

Seventeen watched his sister fade into oblivion, the remnants of the ki blast that had destroyed her slowly dissipating into the surrounding atmosphere.

He was stupefied. This… this _kid_ had just killed Eighteen! How the hell did that happen?! She was the second most powerful being on the planet, outclassed only by Seventeen himself.

While this impossible situation was hammering itself into Seventeen's mind, Eighteen's killer turned to face him.

The warm, golden aura encircling him was offset by the frigid look in his eyes, cold enough to stop one's heart.

However, as Seventeen did not have a heart, the dramatic effect was lost on him.

Seventeen's mind kept reeling. He knew that, due to some unforeseeable occurrence, the Saiyan boy was now stronger than him.

Shit.

He also knew that if they were to fight, Seventeen would probably be killed.

Once again, shit.

Now, Seventeen felt that pride was very important. However, he felt that life was even more so. It was this hierarchy of priorities that led Seventeen to make his decision:

Time to go.

Without another moment of hesitation, Seventeen took off at full speed, fleeing in a random direction. He didn't bother to check if he was being followed; he knew he was.

He also knew that the boy couldn't track him easily if he managed to escape. With this in mind, Seventeen flew towards the mountains, weaving to avoid the ki blasts that were soaring over his head.

As he neared the edge of the mountain range, he glanced back.

The murdering bastard was right behind him. Had the situation not been so dire, Seventeen would have laughed; Calling someone a murdering bastard when he himself had killed millions without blinking.

Well, this was not the time for internal musings. Seventeen soared amongst the mountaintops, followed closely by his pursuer. He cursed under his breath. How was he going to lose this guy?

While gliding through a narrow gap between two cliffs, Seventeen fired a ki blast behind him. He heard the rock give way with a satisfying rumble. Although the rock itself would prove no barrier for the demi-Saiyan, the dust from the rockslide would provide a few moments' cover.

That was all that Seventeen needed. He and his sister had flown through these mountains hundreds of times. With his superior cognitive abilities, he could recall every inch of the terrain.

Seventeen dove through a complicated maze of cracks, crevices, and cliffs. He turned sharply into a cave completely invisible to the surrounding area. Once encompassed in the comforting darkness, Seventeen began to formulate a plan.

Seventeen sighed. He couldn't stay in this cave forever. Eventually, one of two things would happen: Either he would be found or the boy would abandon the search and merely blow up the entire mountain range.

The latter would have been Seventeen's course of action had the situation been reversed, but he doubted that his hunter would opt for such a destructive method.

Rubbing his temples in annoyance, Seventeen pulled up his data files on his pursuer.

**Name: **Briefs, Trunks

**Race:** Human/Saiyan

**Age:** Seventeen human years

**Family: **Vegeta (Father, deceased)

Briefs, Bulma (Mother, no threat)

**Power Level: **Medium

**Conclusion:** While his Saiyan heritage makes him stronger than most humans, he is considerably weaker than other Saiyan warriors including Son Goku (Deceased), Vegeta (Deceased), and Son Gohan (Deceased).

**Threat:** Minimal

If the boy… If _Trunks_ was so insignificant, then why was Seventeen hiding in this cold, dark cave with his sister nowhere to be found?

Okay, back to the plan. There was a decent chance that Seventeen could escape from the mountains without being seen. He paused for a moment. Trunks was currently on the opposite side of the range, roughly ten miles west of Seventeen's hiding spot.

Yes, he could run. But where could he go? The best choice was to the nearest city. Although all the buildings were in ruins and corpses littered the ground, the cities held a higher concentration of humans than anywhere else.

It was pathetic, really, how humans flocked together even when it made them a more desirous target.

More humans meant that he could be spotted easier, true. However, he didn't care if the humans knew his location. He could easily silence them. All he had to do was avoid Trunks.

To Trunks, a city would be the last place Seventeen would hide.

His mind made up, Seventeen slipped silently out of the cave and into the sky, keeping low to avoid being spotted.

Though he was fleeing for his life, Seventeen took a moment to enjoy his surroundings. The wind in his hair. The chill of the air. The way the sunlight struck the smoke rising from the burning highway that he and Eighteen had destroyed a while ago.

He arrived in the city, noting with satisfaction the general state of disrepair. Years of fear and sorrow had really taken a toll on the humans. Buildings had crumbled, streets had flooded…

Everything seemed to have lost its color.

Seventeen noticed a billboard lying sadly on the ground. He approached it, craning his neck so he could read the words.

**Come Visit Us at Capsule Corporation! Providing Technology and Transportation That Makes Your Lives Easier!**

The overtly cheery tone of the text offended him. He raised a hand to destroy it, only to lower it a moment later as recognition struck. Capsule Corporation was run by Trunks' mother, Bulma.

Seventeen remembered that Bulma was a scientist. He also recalled that she had sent Goku and company off to another planet prior to his creation.

Space. That was the answer to his problems. There was absolutely no way Trunks could find him if he left this pathetic planet. Plus, there were other planets simply ripe for the genocide that he could bring.

After consulting his internal database, he flew off towards the residence of his bitterest foe.

Upon his arrival, Seventeen scanned for humans. It appeared that Trunks' mother was absent at the time. Perfect.

Seventeen took the liberty of inviting himself in. He wandered through the more typical parts of the residence —kitchen, living room, dining area— before arriving in what he assumed was Bulma's lab.

Papers covered every inch of the small desk in the corner. Half-finished designs were crumpled up and strewn across the floor. Various machines were lying about the room.

Seventeen snorted. As far as laboratories went, this one was rather unimpressive. Granted, Bulma had probably been driven from her real lab by the androids' years of havoc. Oops.

He frowned. There was certainly nothing that looked capable of carrying him through space. He shifted through the papers on the desk with a decided lack of interest. One sheet caught his eye. He picked it up and smirked.

It was a plan for an android deactivation remote. Judging from the furious scriblings and erasings, it was far from completion. However, Seventeen destroyed out of caution and, in all honesty, spite. He was not in a pleasant mood at the moment.

A sudden noise upstairs only served to exacerbate his displeasure. The scientist was home and Seventeen had yet to procure a space vessel. He froze as he heard footsteps approching his location. He stared at the doorknob as it started to turn.

As Bulma opened the door, she was met by a ki blast. In the microseconds before her death, her eyes widened as she saw the killer of her lover and friends in her lab. Then nothingness overtook her and she thought no more.

Seventeen frowned. Damn. He had meant to interrogate her about the location of the space shuttle. Oh, well. Old habits die hard.

Besides, Trunks had killed the person he cared about most. He was using 'cared' and 'person' very loosely. It was only fair that Seventeen returned the favor.

Now, back to the search. Seventeen came across a handful of capsules. He picked each one up and examined it closely. Hovercar. Submarine. Motorbike. Storage. Much to his chagrin, none were labeled 'Spacecraft.' He growled in frustration.

Seventeen shifted through the papers on the desk, discovering no other capsules.

He pouted. What good was a scientist when she didn't have what he wanted?

Seventeen walked over to Bulma's corpse. He looked down in derision. Her face was marred by shock, anger, confusion, and despair. Pointless. He noticed with interest the bag lying at her side.

Picking the bag up, Seventeen dumped the contents unceremoniously onto the ground. More papers, a few coins, some rubbish, and a knife. He eyed the blade with interest.

Why would Bulma need a knife? Protection, perhaps. However, the weapon would have done nothing against the androids. Another reason, then. Something more sublte and desperate. But what?

Seventeen dismissed his ponderings as something more interesting caught his eye.

It was another capsule. This one was substantially larger than the others. It was yellowish in color and lacked a label. Seventeen decided to give it a shot.

Clasping his bounty, Seventeen wandered outside. After surveying the land for a few minutes, he found a space large enough to hold whatever came out of the capsule. He pressed the release mechanism and tossed the capsule in front of him. He held his breath —metaphorically, of course— as the smoke cleared.

In front of him was a egg-shaped machine. The bottom half was yellow, the top half was encased in glass. Inside, Seventeen could see a seat and a number of controls.

He smirked. This looked promising. He released the top and peered at the controls. No way of knowing if this was a spaceship. Although he was comprised of advanced machinery, Seventeen was surprisingly inept when it came to technology. He hadn't the faintest clue as to how this device worked.

As he was pondering the marvels of modern machinery, Seventeen's sensors let out an alert. He checked his scanner. To his shock and dismay, it revealed that Trunks was headed this way rather quickly.

Okay. If Seventeen wanted to keep his head, it was time to leave. He climbed in the vehicle and applied his tried-and-true method of dealing with technology: random button pressing.

After a few button taps and switch flips, the machine began to hum. A couple more and it rose into the air. One last prod and there was a flash of light.

As the light faded, the ship and the android were nowhere to be found.

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Thank you! Please review. Constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated!


	2. False Hopes

**Disclaimer: **Nothing has changed in the past week that granted me the rights to DBZ. Crap.

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**Chapter Two: False Hopes**

Trunks growled in frustration.

"Damn it!" he spat, eyes sweeping the surrounding landscape.

How had the android gotten away from him?!

He had trained for so long, just for the chance to defeat the monsters who had obliterated his world, his friends, his… everything.

Trunks' eyes clenched shut, memories flashing unbidden before his eyes: fires raging out of control, screams ripping through the air; sadistic laughter surrounding him as he was beaten to a pulp, coughing up blood, struggling for every breath; Gohan's corpse, lying abandoned and desolate in the rain.

The pair had caused so much suffering. Why? What was the purpose of such wonton destruction?

The worst part was that he knew the answer. The androids weren't seeking revenge. They weren't trying to conquer the world. They were playing a sick, twisted _game_.

Trunks hated them with every fiber of his being. They haunted his dreams, taunting him. Especially the male android, Seventeen. He seemed to take an inordinate amount of pleasure from maiming Trunks. As Trunks lay panting and bleeding on the ground, Seventeen would smirk.

"_What's wrong, little Saiyan? Too tired to get up and play?"_

_His foot connected with Trunks' ribs, emitting a cracking sound as the ribs snapped. Despite himself, Trunks screamed in pain._

"_Well, how sad. They would all be so disappointed in you, Trunks. Especially your father! Imagine his shame at seeing the last Saiyan, his own flesh and blood, lying in the mud completely helpless."_

_Another kick, this time to the stomach. An odd gurgling sound escaped Trunks' throat. Seventeen knelt down next to Trunks, their faces inches apart. In Seventeen's eyes Trunks could see mild amusement mixed with arrogance. This was what the android __lived__ for._

_Seventeen flicked at the lavender strands of hair covering Trunks' face in an almost playful gesture. He was so weak now that he couldn't even maintain his Super Saiyan form._

_The next words were spoken as a whisper, delivered in a deceptively kind and caring tone. "What about your friend? The one with the dark hair that you used to run around with. Oh, what was his name again?"_

Gohan! His name was Gohan!

_The android sighed. "Whatever. It's not like it's important."_

Die.

"_You know it's your fault he's dead, right?" said Seventeen conversationally. "I mean, he couldn't defeat us, but he'd still be alive if he hadn't been so concerned with protecting you."_

_These words echoed through Trunks' mind as unconsciousness overtook him. The worst part was that Trunks believed them. It really was his own fault that Gohan was dead._

And he had let the bastard escape.

Trunks howled, energy radiating outward in all directions. "Come out and fight me, damn it! Are you just going to run away and hide now that you're outclassed?"

That was a stupid question. Of course the android would flee. He had no pride or honor binding him to the fight. He would turn his tail and run away. He would…

Honestly, Trunks had no idea what Seventeen would do. The only aspect of his personality that Trunks had ever known was his desire to kill. However, the android clearly had some sense of self-preservation, so he wouldn't try that again in a hurry.

So where would he go? How could Trunks find him? Because the android had no discernible ki, it would be nearly impossible to find him if he stayed under the radar.

Drifting slowly to the ground, Trunks pondered his options. He could wait until the android did something to expose himself. No, that could take years. Plus, the android was immortal while Trunks was not. Seventeen undoubtedly knew this. If it came down to a waiting game, Trunks was destined to lose.

What else? He had no way to find his prey.

_Prey_. He rolled the word around on his tongue, loving the feeling of power it elicited. No longer would he have to live in fear, wondering how many people would die that day. No longer would he look around and see nothing but destruction. No longer would he have to watch his mother walk out the door and wonder if she would come back alive.

He smiled softly when he thought of his mother. The years had been rough on her. All of the youth and vigor that he vaguely remembered from his childhood had drained away as she watched her friends and family die, leaving behind only despair and bitterness.

Maybe she would be happy again once he caught the other android. Trunks doubted that all the years of sorrow would be swept away with such ease, but he could hope.

Bulma Briefs was a brilliant scientist. No doubt she would play a large role in the reconstruction of the world. Perhaps that would bring her solace. Trunks knew, however, that she had wanted to play a more personal role in the defeat of the androids. She didn't understand that his new power was all because of her. Without her, he would have given up the day Gohan had died.

There would have been nothing left to fight for.

A thought struck him. Maybe there was something else his mother could do. With her knowledge and innovation, she could probably create some sort of device for tracking down the android. It would take some time, but it was better than waiting for Seventeen to slip up and make his presence known.

This happy possibility in mind, Trunks took off, feeling more cheerful than he had in years. He was so close to freeing his home from the threat that had plagued them throughout his entire life. Soon, the world would start to heal until the androids were merely a nightmare caught in the past.

His life would be better, too. He could travel the world, seeing extraordinary places like his mother had when she was younger. Trunks, who had missed out on a real childhood, dreamed of adventures and mysteries beyond his home.

Maybe he could travel through space! If Bulma could send him to New Namek, perhaps he could find a new guardian for Earth, like Goku had in the other past. A new guardian meant new Dragon Balls, which meant that he could be granted a wish. He could bring everyone back: Goku, his father, Gohan, Piccolo, Krillin, Yamcha, Tien, Chiaotzu, and the countless others whose lives had been lost needlessly!

Trunks was so wrapped up in the web of opportunities that he failed to notice as he approached his home. Indeed, he only snapped back to reality when he saw a blinding flash of light.

Blinking his eyes to clear away the spots, Trunks approached the area where he guessed the flash had originated from. It was only an empty field, one he had passed hundreds of times.

How strange. He couldn't shake the feeling that the flash was important, but he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Trunks arrived home, noting with displeasure that the door was unlocked. He was always telling his mother how unsafe that was! He laughed at his own folly. While the world had been plagued by murderous cyborgs, he had been worried about robbers.

"Mom, are you home?" Trunks called, shutting the door behind him. No answer. That was not unusual. Chances are, she was either out shopping or caught up in an experiment down in her lab.

Well, it looked like it was up to him to cook dinner. He opened up the cabinets, scanning their meager contents before pulling out a can of some unidentifiable flavor of soup. He dumped it in a pot and set it on the stove to heat up.

That was something else that would change. No more rummaging for supplies and eating less than palatable dishes. As society improved, there would be fresh fruits and vegetables, real meat, and ripe grains. This was perhaps a frivolous pleasure, not as monumental as other future occurrences, but nice to think about nonetheless.

Time to see if his mother was home. He wanted to tell her the news about the androids as well as his plans for the future. He wandered down the stairs towards her lab, his mind on the scents wafting out of the kitchen. His stomach growled, causing him to blush sheepishly.

It made him think of Goku. That man could eat! So could his son, Gohan, as well as Trunks' father, Vegeta. The three of them ate as much in a day as Trunks did in a year. He supposed it was a typical Saiyan characteristic, one that he could never afford himself.

You make due with what you have.

He ran his hand through his hair, seeming much older than his twenty years. Soon it would be over. Soon he could rest.

As he rounded the corner towards his mother's lab, the sight that met him didn't quite register.

He noticed that the door to the lab was open. That was unusual.

He noticed papers scattered across the floor and the table. Not so unusual.

He noticed his mother lying on the ground.

Trunks frowned. How odd. Why would she do something like that? Maybe she had passed out! Trunks approached her with a look of concern on his face.

"Hey, Mom! Are you alright?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He shook her lightly with no response.

Trunks rolled her over onto her back, worried. He froze, his mind unable to process what he saw.

Bulma's eyes were wide open, filled with terror and anger. Her face was ashen, and Trunks could see every line time had left to mar her face.

He took in the sight with numbness. Moving in slow motion, he reached up a hand and shut her eyes. Better. Now he could almost believe that she was asleep.

Almost. People who are asleep normally don't have gigantic holes in their chests. People who are asleep normally have pulses.

How could this have happened? He had protected her throughout all these years, but failed to be there when it really mattered. Why now?! He had defeated the androids! What else could hurt her?!

But that was a lie. Black hair and an orange bandana flashed through his mind. _He_ had escaped. Damn it! Why would he do this? He had already lost, so what would he gain by coming into Trunks' home and killing his mother?!

Revenge? Probably, but Trunks didn't think that was the real reason. Seventeen didn't seem like the type to distinguish between humans. One corpse was as good as the next. He wouldn't risk his life just to kill Bulma, no matter what she was to Trunks. At least not so soon.

Why?! He forced himself to stare at his mother's body. He noticed with sickening curiosity that she had been shot from the front, which meant that the android had been waiting inside of the lab. What business did Seventeen have there?

Trunks focused on the contents of Bulma's bag strewn across the floor. Suddenly, something clicked. The android was looking for something, which meant that his mother was killed just because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

That didn't make it any better.

Clearing his mind of all distracting thoughts, he focused on the task at hand: finding that android.

What was missing from the lab? He mentally made a list of his mother's possessions. The multitude of scribblings made it impossible to determine if any were missing. Trunks doubted that Seventeen would steal a piece of paper anyway; it just wasn't his style.

Suddenly he noticed the capsule case lying on the ground, surrounded by a variety of capsules. He quickly glanced over them, assuring himself that they were all accounted for.

So Seventeen hadn't stolen papers, and he hadn't stolen a capsule…

No. He hadn't stolen _these_ capsules. There was one more, but Trunks didn't know where his mother stored it upon his return.

He searched the entire lab. Not finding it there, he steeled himself and searched his mother, hoping that it was merely tucked away in a pocket somewhere.

It wasn't. The android had taken the time machine. That's what that odd flash of light had been. Seventeen had escaped and could now be anywhere, at anytime.

Just when Trunks had thought his victory was certain, he managed to screw it up. He slid slowly to the floor, riddled with self-loathing.

Just perfect.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was a long time before Trunks moved from his spot on the floor.

The soup was burning. Not that it mattered. He wasn't hungry anymore.

After dumping the smoldering mess in the trash can, he returned to his mother's corpse. He lifted it tenderly, swaddled it in a blanket, and carried it outside.

The thought of his mother lying in the cold, unforgiving ground made him shudder. He couldn't do it.

Cremation, then. She would have liked that, going out in a blaze of glory. With a quick ki manipulation, he started a fire, standing nearby to ensure that it didn't get out of control.

The flames danced and flickered, reveling in the destruction they caused. Just like the android.

The smoke stung Trunks' eyes.

He didn't cry.

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Thank you for reading! Please review; constructive criticism is always appreciated. I'll update again as soon as possible.

Humbly yours,

Shadow


	3. Strange Encounters

**Disclaimer: **Unless a lot of people die, I'll probably never own Dragon Ball Z. And when I say 'a lot of people,' I mean the entire population of Asia and about half the population of the Americas. Not likely.

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**Chapter Three: Strange Encounters**

Seventeen looked around, slightly dazed. He stared out the window of the pod, and people stared back. He only knew one thing for certain:

The yellow pod was not a spaceship.

He pressed the release button for the top of the shuttle, climbed out, and morphed it back to capsule form. He glared at it for a moment before shoving it into his pocket.

Having gotten that out of the way, Seventeen decided that it was time to assess his situation. Firstly, he was surrounded by a group of people. A number of them were staring at him. His hand twitched; he severely disliked it when people stared at him with anything except fear.

_Patience_. He had nothing to gain from killing them. It would only draw unnecessary attention to him. However, all subtlety was probably abandoned by appearing out of thin air in the middle of what looked like a city.

By now, Seventeen's obvious hostility had driven all but the most intrepid onlookers away. Either that, or they had gotten bored. Whichever.

"Excuse me, sir?" Seventeen turned around. The man addressing him was a burly police officer. His voice was gruff and manly, matched by his bulging muscles. Seventeen rolled his eyes. The man had probably practiced looking tough in the mirror. He was not impressed. He chose to ignore the human. He had more pressing concerns.

Namely, where the hell was he?

Seventeen froze when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. "You seem to have created quite a disruption. On behalf of the West City Police Department, I'm obligated to take you into custody for blurg."

Note that blurg is the sound one makes when one suddenly finds a gaping hole in one's chest.

Seventeen strolled away nonchalantly, ignoring the panic swelling up behind him. He frowned at his arm. "Damn it. There's blood on my sleeve. Well, I guess I'll just have to get some other clothes," he mumbled to himself.

It was probably best. Different clothes would help him blend in. His reputation preceded him: shoulder-length dark hair; eyes the color of ice, with about as much warmth; orange bandana; short-sleeved navy shirt atop a long-sleeved white one. No, if he wanted to hide from Trunks, he needed to change into something less obvious.

Two things about that thought bothered him.

One: Seventeen had no clue what he would do when Trunks found him. That was inevitable. Seventeen had killed Trunks' mother, something the boy would never forgive. He was starting to regret that. Well, not really.

Two: Why hadn't his mere appearance started a panic? People didn't start freaking out until _after_ he had killed someone. Either these humans were incredibly dim-witted, or they didn't know who he was.

Still pondering his situation, he strolled into a clothing store. A few moments later, he strolled out of the now-burning store, carrying a bag of clothes.

Pfft. Like he would actually _pay_ for anything. He took off, searching for a place away from all these humans where he could figure out what to do. He noticed a large park surrounded by imposing fences bearing signs declaring "Keep out! Trespassers will be prosecuted."

That would work. He flew over the fence, alighting amidst a copse of trees. Once there, he shed his bloody, tattered, and somewhat repulsive-smelling clothes. He donned the new outfit he had purchased at the store: a white t-shirt, a black short-sleeved hoodie, and a pair of slightly baggy blue jeans. The jeans were a little loose, resting low on his hips.

He turned to the pile of abandoned clothing. He leaned over and, in a fit of sentimentality, picked up his orange bandana and shoved it in his pocket, which now housed the entirety of Seventeen's belongings: the bandana, the yellow capsule, his energy pistol, and a plain black hair tie that he had stolen from Eighteen just to annoy her. It had worked; she had set him on fire in retaliation, annoyed when he put the fire out before it did any damage.

Something of a fond smile ghosted across Seventeen's lips. They had had fun, he thought as he set the tattered clothing on fire. Eighteen had kept Seventeen from being bored. Now he had no one to play with, all thanks to Trunks. Somehow, the Saiyan boy would have to pay for that.

He used the hair tie to pull his long hair back into a messy ponytail. Walking over to a nearby pond, he noted with approval that he was not easily recognizable as a mass-murdering heartless cyborg. That was probably for the best, even though that was his favorite thing about himself: his power and his cruelty. He never claimed to be normal. Or sane.

First thing's first. Where was he? All he knew was that it wasn't outer space. The stupid police officer had said that this was West City. Seventeen knew for a fact, however, that he and his sister had destroyed West City a year of two after they had arrived. He had just left from West City, where he had personally seen general decay and mayhem. He sighed, deciding that it would be easier to just check his radar.

He frowned. According to the radar, he was in West City. Also according to the radar, there were over a million people milling about.

Seventeen grunted. He doubted that they had left that many humans alive, much less in one place.

His mind was reeling. Nothing today made sense. First, the Saiyan brat had become abnormally strong seemingly overnight. Second, said brat had killed Eighteen. And third, Seventeen had no idea where he was because it sure as hell wasn't the West City that he knew and loved to destroy.

He started pacing. What to do, what to do? His first thought was to go on a killing spree. As fun as that sounded, it was probably not the best idea when it came to hiding from Trunks.

His second thought was his plan of going to space. Unfortunately, Seventeen had neither the means nor the knowledge now that the yellow capsule did not hold a spaceship.

His internal musings were rudely interrupted by a voice behind him. Incidentally, it was the last voice that Seventeen wanted to hear.

"Hey, you!" He spun around only to come face to face with Trunks.

Fuck.

Well, his freedom had lasted all of a half-hour. He tensed himself and prepared to fight a battle that he had no chance of winning.

"You dropped this," said the lavender-haired boy, an outstretched hand offer something to Seventeen. His orange bandana.

Seventeen stared, utterly bewildered. Had Trunks hit his head and forgotten that he hated Seventeen? Why wasn't he attacking?

Trunks stared back, still offering the bandana. Seventeen reached for it numbly, waiting for Trunks to grab his arm and break it in half. Shoot him in the stomach. Something like that.

Nothing happened. Seventeen took the bandana and put in back in his pocket. Trunks made no move to attack. Indeed, he didn't even look prepared for a fight. He stood there, arms crossed, wearing a business suit of all things. Not exactly prime fighting gear.

Trunks continued to look at Seventeen, his gaze holding mere curiosity rather than unquenchable hatred. "Now, who are you and what are you doing here?" Trunks asked, running his had through his hair with an annoyed gesture.

Seventeen reeled. Who was he?! He wanted to scream that he was the destroyer of armies, the scourge of the planet. He wanted to shout at Trunks that he had killed his father, his mother, his mentor, and pretty much everyone else Trunks had ever known. How could he not recognize him?! His change in clothes wasn't that deceptive.

The blow to his pride almost made Seventeen attack Trunks head-on. Before he did anything, however, Trunks spoke again. "Well? Do I need to call security?" he asked, arching his eyebrow questioningly.

Seventeen was stumped. Trunks didn't know who he was. Well, might as well grab on to this odd surprise and see where it took him. He needed a name, any name. "I'm… Akira. Sato Akira," he said. Well, that works. And it was only sort of a lie.

Now, as a rule, Seventeen avoided lying. Normally, any truth Seventeen delivered was more painful and twisted than any fabrication he could come up with. Plus, it had the added bonus of reality; you couldn't wish it away like a bad dream. Despite that, Seventeen decided that it would be beneficial to avoid flaunting his identity if Trunks was a little slow in recognizing him.

Seventeen enjoyed life.

"Well, what are you doing here? This area's off-limits to civilians. Furthermore, how'd you get back here? If the guards are slacking off, there will be hell to pay." Trunks tapped his foot in impatience.

It was all Seventeen could do to prevent himself from attacking the boy. Who was he to tell the mighty Seventeen where he could or could not go?! Once again, he restrained himself out of self-preservation. But before he could formulate a response that was not overtly hostile, a woman's voice interrupted.

"Trunks, honey, is that you? Tea's ready if you want some!" An older woman with curly blond hair walked in to the garden. A cursory glance at his databases told Seventeen that this was Trunks' grandmother. Also according to his information, she had died over fifteen years ago.

What the hell?!

Seventeen sighed, deciding that this day made no sense. He was probably having a circuit malfunction and none of this was actually happening. Yep, that's what he would tell himself.

The pseudo-Trunks in his fabricated world seemed capable of only one state of mind: irritation. He sounded testy as he said, "He's not really my friend, Grandma. He…"

The rest of the sentence was cut off by the blond hostess. "Oh, nonsense. You know that friends of yours are always welcome. Come on over here and I'll bring you boys a little something to eat." With that she hustled off, fully expecting the bewildered and irate pair behind her to follow.

Trunks looked at Seventeen in exasperation. "Well, come on. If I send you away now, I'll never hear the end of it. There's no reasoning with that woman." He turned on his heel and followed his grandmother, not bothering to check if Seventeen accompanied him. If he left, well, that wasn't Trunks' problem, now was it?

Seventeen approached the room into which the two humans had entered. He did not like this. He had officially been in this place for twenty-three minutes, and he still had no clue as to what was going on. If this was real, then he needed to get his wits about him quickly.

Upon entering the room, he found a large, bare table surrounded by a multitude of chairs. Seated at the head of the table was Trunks, his arms draped nonchalantly across his chest. He raised an eyebrow as Seventeen hesitated at the door. He made a sweeping gesture with his arm, saying, "Go head and sit down, Akira."

Another moment of confusion. Akira? Oh, right! That was him. Seventeen cringed internally as he selected a chair a couple of seats away from Trunks. He was going to have to get used to it, though at this point, he would almost prefer being blown up by the real Trunks. This was stupendously boring. He _hated_ being bored.

A few moments later, Mrs. Briefs strolled in carrying a platter of cookies, cakes, pies, and any other sort of delicacy one could imagine. She set the platter before the boys, chatting all the while. "It's so good to see Trunks socializing with boys his own age. Lately, he's been cooped up in his room, doing nothing but studying and brooding. I haven't seen Goten in months, and they used to be such good friends!"

Yet another wave of confusion. Who the hell was Goten?! That name didn't even show up in his database. Seventeen was so busy trying to figure everything out that he didn't notice when Mrs. Briefs departed and silence settled like an oppressive shroud over the room.

Trunks cleared his throat. "Well?" he asked, a hint of impatience in his voice.

Seventeen clenched his fists. Screw being polite. He seemed to be in no immediate danger. Plus, pseudo-Trunks was pissing him off. "Well what?" he sneered.

"What were you doing in our private park?"

Seventeen counted to ten, trying to calm down. When that didn't work, he counted higher. By the time he reached fifty-seven, he determined that it wasn't helping. The tone in the boy's voice, as if he thought himself _better_ than Seventeen, irked him to no end.

"When one is given a name, it is common courtesy to give one's own name in return," he snapped. He didn't know why it mattered; he knew Trunks' name, unless this bizarre world had changed that too. Still, he was pissed, and was determined to piss Trunks off in kind. Brilliant? Probably not. Satisfying? Hell yes.

Trunks blinked, caught off guard. First of all, no one talked to him like that. Well, no one except his father, who treated everyone as if they were not worthy of breathing the same air as him. Everyone else, however, treated him with respect and often fear due to his inordinate intelligence and strength. But what really stumped him was that the other man didn't know his name.

He was Trunks Briefs, heir to both Capsule Corporation and the Saiyan throne, for all the good the latter was. A kingdom comprised of seven people was essentially useless. He tore himself away from his brooding, refocusing on the dark-haired stranger across from him.

Trunks smiled genially. "Excuse my poor manners. I just assumed that my reputation preceded me. I am Trunks Briefs, Vice President of Capsule Corporation." He watched the other man's face, waiting for a flash of recognition. When none was forthcoming, he continued. "Pardon me for asking, but where are you from? Everyone around here is familiar with my entire family."

Seventeen was caught off guard again. He could make up a background, but then he'd have to remember it later. That was far too troublesome. So he opted for being obnoxiously cryptic. "Far away," he replied smoothly, barely missing a beat.

Trunks leaned forward, his interest piqued. Why conceal something as simple as a location of origin? Either the man was hiding something, or he enjoyed mind games as much as Trunks did himself. "So, Akira from somewhere far away, what do you do? I mean, as a job," he inquired, his eyes never breaking hold with those before him.

Seventeen leaned forward in turn, an idea forming in the back of his mind. "I guess you could say I'm a vagabond." He smiled rakishly.

Trunks was about to ask exactly what that meant when a beeping sound emitted from his wrist. He glanced down at his watch. "Shit," he muttered. "I have to go. Feel free to stay as long as you like. My grandmother loves having people to feed." He excused himself hastily from the table.

"It was nice meeting you, Akira. Stop by again anytime you like. It's refreshing to have someone so interesting to talk to." After saying farewell, Trunks began to walk out of the room. He paused and glanced back; the dark-haired man was watching his exit. He shrugged mentally and departed.

_Interesting_.

Funny, that was just what Seventeen was thinking about this other Trunks. Maybe this world wasn't so terrible after all. Even if he couldn't blow up as many people as he liked.

A sadistic smile spread across Seventeen's face. One thing was certain: he had found something to alleviate his boredom.

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Thank you for reading! As always, please feel free to leave any comments. Reviews make my day infinitely better! They are like virtual hugs!

-Shadow


	4. Generation Gap

This chapter is dedicated to all of my lovely reviewers. You guys are amazing!

**Disclaimer:** **Until I take over the world, I will not own Dragon Ball Z. I am currently welcoming applicants into my army. Current manpower: 1.2 people.**

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**Chapter Four: Generation Gap**

Seventeen glared.

He glared at the skyscrapers towering around him.

He glared at the people weaving to and fro throughout the city.

He glared at the pigeons chirping happily in the nearby cherry tree. Stupid winged rats. He was sorely tempted to disintegrate them with a blast from his energy pistol.

He didn't.

He wasn't sure why, though.

Seventeen growled in annoyance. He was surrounded by _things_ that had no right to exist. Furthermore, his internal tracking system finally realized that, and reacted by giving of an incredibly obnoxious and persistent internal warning that a system malfunction was occurring.

If only, if only.

As his eyes locked on to various civilians, his software displayed their names, ages, and other pertinent information. Over the past half-hour, Seventeen had come across eighteen people the system deemed 'alive,' five hundred seventy-two deemed 'deceased,' and one hundred twenty-eight on which no data could be found. The latter group consisted entirely of teenagers and children.

So here Seventeen sat, on a park bench surrounded by apparent zombies and phantoms, in the midst of a city that had long ago been blown up.

He tried to figure out what to do. Pointless destruction no longer seemed viable due to the fact that the real Trunks would show up sooner or later. No need to make himself a more obvious target.

Thinking of Trunks brought to mind the other Trunks that Seventeen had encountered a couple of days earlier. He had deemed him pseudo-Trunks. Pseudo-Trunks looked nearly identical to normal Trunks. Physically, that is. Mentally, well, that was a different story.

Over the years, Seventeen had learned to detect all the subtle nuances of human emotions. He especially liked the ones he incited: panic, rage, sorrow, hopelessness, fear... Since the androids' arrival, these had been permanent fixtures in the minds of the humans.

Trunks was no exception. His eyes were Seventeen's favorite thing about him. They exuded hatred and pain. More subtly, they showed fear and helplessness. Trunks' eyes confirmed that humanity was at its breaking point, teetering on the verge of utter chaos.

Pseudo-Trunks was completely different. His eyes showed narcissism, arrogance, satisfaction, and _happiness_.

That, Seventeen decided, was not near as interesting. He would have to fix that.

Since his arrival and his meeting with pseudo-Trunks, Seventeen had been wandering around aimlessly. He had flown for hours, trying to convince himself that this place was the same physically as the one he had left. Landmarks, islands, whole continents were exactly the same. The cities that covered them were even more numerous than they had been when he and his sister had arrived.

After returning to West City, he sulked for awhile, eventually finding his way to the park bench on which he was now seated.

Well, at least pseudo-Trunks offered a distraction. A purpose in mind, Seventeen set off to find his archenemy. He had no clue what he'd do when he found him, but that was neither here nor there.

He began to walk towards the garden where he had last encountered the Saiyan whelp. He opted not to fly because the humans stared whenever he did that.

He did _not_ like being stared at.

As he neared the garden, he became aware of the massive amounts of ki radiating outward from his destination.

He froze. It would be safer just to walk away. On the other hand, he really wanted to know who was generating that ki. He could tell that it originated from two people within the garden. As of last week, the only person capable of producing any discernable ki was Trunks.

So who was the other person?

Seventeen hopped gracefully over the imposing fence, alighting without a sound. He made his way silently over to where the ki was coming from, remaining hidden. He could hear noises that indicated that a fight was taking place.

This is what he saw:

Pseudo-Trunks was decked in full battle raiment, the traditional blue Saiyan armor favored by various fighters Seventeen had encountered in the past. The boy was powered up to full strength, blond hair defying gravity as if to proclaim that Trunks was more powerful than the forces of nature themselves.

He looked like the superhero the real Trunks wished he could be. He stood proud, facing an opponent whose back was to Seventeen. Trunks had never managed to possess that sort of composure against him and his sister.

Trunks' opponent was slightly shorter in stature. He too was wearing Saiyan armor, exuding the same air of confidence. Seventeen noticed with interest that the challenger's hair was also spiky and blond.

From what Seventeen could tell, the fight had not been going on for long. Neither man had worked up a sweat, nor even wrinkled their clothing. No, Seventeen arrived just in time to see the show.

Trunks made the first move, rushing towards his opponent while emitting a wholly unnecessary battle cry. Seventeen firmly believed that theatrics should be reserved for when your opponent was lying on the ground, begging for his or her life. Much more entertaining.

Much to Seventeen's, and evidently Trunks', surprised, the other fighter dodged the attack with ease. Never making a sound, he brought his knee up and rammed it into Trunks' back. The boy let out a grunt of pain, but reeled around and aimed a kick at the other man's head. The latter grabbed his leg and hurled him into the air, taking off behind him.

Thus the battle became airborne. The kicking and punching that ensued were difficult to follow, but one thing was certain:

Trunks was losing.

In desperation, he fired a ki blast at his attacker, who quickly dodged, taking the momentary opening as a chance to knock Trunks back to the ground. As Trunks crashed to the earth, the other man followed, slamming into Trunks full-force. Trunks coughed up blood.

The challenger, seeing that he had won, stood up, kicking the boy as he rose. He spoke for the first time. "Hmph! Pathetic, boy. You are a disgrace to your Saiyan heritage; you spend so much time pretending to be human that you've forgotten how to fight!" With that the other left contemptuously, but not before Seventeen caught a glimpse of his face:

Vegeta.

Opting to deal with the whole I-killed-that-guy-so-why-is-he-still-here thing later, Seventeen decided to take a risk; he revealed his presence to Trunks.

He strolled out of his hiding spot and approached the boy lying, groaning in pain on the ground. It brought back memories.

_Trunks as a twelve-year-old, lying whimpering on the ground. Despite his best efforts, tears streamed down his face. Seventeen laughed._

_Trunks a couple of years later. Even with all of his training, he was no match for Seventeen. Once again he was beaten into the ground. More cold, heartless laughter._

_Eighteen falling to the ground lifeless before him. Trunks looking on without pity. This time, there was no laughter._

Steeling himself, Seventeen knelt down next to Trunks. "Are you alright?" he whispered, feigning concern.

Trunks opened his eyes, looking at Seventeen without recollection. "Huh?" His words are slurred, accompanied by a cough that brought more blood trickling down his cheek.

Seventeen sighed. Trunks was not allowed to die until Seventeen had successfully exacted his revenge. He looked the boy over. He had no severe external wounds, but judging from the blood dripping from his mouth, he was suffering from heavy internal bleeding.

Being unfamiliar with the treatment of human wounds, Seventeen decided it would be best to bring him inside and let the other humans deal with it.

Lifting Trunks gingerly, Seventeen noticed that Trunks had passed out. He shook his head in bemusement, wandering the way he remembered going last time.

One thing was certain: Pseudo-Trunks was a great deal weaker that the real Trunks.

Upon entering the building, Seventeen paused, uncertain of where to go. He chose a hallway at random and began wandering down it. He arrived at a dead end, confronted by a door. "Do Not Disturb," it proclaimed.

Seventeen did not take orders from doors. He rapped loudly on the door, and was rewarded with the sound of footsteps approaching on the other side. A woman's voice rang out, slightly muffled by the door. "This better be important! I'm on the verge of an important breakthrough…" As the door opened, the speaker trailed off.

It was Bulma Briefs, Trunks' mother. Seventeen had killed her before departing in the yellow not-spaceship, but no one else had stayed dead. Why would she?

For a moment, Seventeen was worried that she had recognized him. Luckily, that was not the case; she was merely stunned into silence by her son's comatose state.

That lasted all of two seconds. "TRUNKS!" she screamed. "MY BABY! Oh, what happened?!" She dragged Seventeen into the room, ushering him towards a couch shoved in the corner. Hustling off to call a doctor, she left Seventeen alone with the unconscious Saiyan. Seventeen deposited him unceremoniously onto the couch. He took advantage of the moment of solitude to inspect his surroundings.

He was instantly reminded of the laboratory where he had searched for a spaceship. While this room was a great deal larger, it was filled with the same sort of scribblings and half-finished inventions. Some things never change.

Bulma hurried back into the room, accompanied by a team of doctors. The doctors immediately set upon Trunks, shoving Bulma and Seventeen out of the lab as they began to work.

Bulma stared at Seventeen, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "Wh… What happened?" she croaked, voice hoarse due to worry and fear. He weighed his response carefully in his mind. What to say? "I don't know," he said hesitantly. "I was walking past the park in the back of the building and I noticed him, lying there. He seemed like he needed help, so I hopped the fence to check on him. When I saw the extent of his injuries, I decided he needed medical attention. So I came in here looking for a doctor."

The lies rolled smoothly off his lips. He could have told the truth, but he didn't feel like it. That would bring up the question of why he hadn't stepped in before Trunks had been maimed. Besides, Seventeen doubted that Bulma would have been happy knowing that her husband beat her son into a coma.

She sniffled, a single tear escaping down her cheek. "Thank you," she said quietly, wiping furiously at her eyes. "I'm sorry, I've forgotten my manners. I'm Bulma Briefs. And you are?" She offered a trembling hand to Seventeen. He clasped it gently and replied, "My name is Akira. It's a pleasure to meet you, but I wish the circumstances had been more favorable."

Bulma gave a watery smile. "Well, I owe you, Akira. Can I get you anything?" Seventeen shook his head. "No ma'am. But I'd like to wait here until he wakes up, if you don't mind."

"Of course you may." Bulma was glad that such a caring person had happened upon her precious Trunks when he was in trouble.

Seventeen settled into a chair outside the lab to wait as Bulma went in to check on the doctors' progress.

He smirked. His histrionic abilities amazed even him sometimes.

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Thank you as always for reading! If you leave a review, I will be eternally grateful! Reviews make me smile.

-Shadow


	5. Mutual Secrets

**Disclaimer:** Let's see... Over the past couple of weeks, I've read a couple of books, beat _Kingdom Hearts II_, gone to Applebee's, and gone to a soccer game. Nope, nothing that would give me the rights to Dragon Ball Z. Darn.

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**Chapter Five: Mutual Secrets**

_Trunks is walking down a long, stark-white hallway. Faceless children surround him, laughing, reaching for him. He looks down and realizes that he is a child himself, no older than ten._

_A girl grabs his hand. She pulls him along, giggling all the way, and they make their way through the crowd of children._

_Suddenly the hallway fades away. Now they are outside, standing on a bridge suspended by nothing hanging above nothing. The scenery remains colorless, merely white set off by oddly placed and extremely dark shadows._

_The bridge sways ominously. Suddenly, the girl holding Trunks' hand loses her footing; she tumbles silently into the void below._

_Without thinking, Trunks dives after her. He reaches her with ease after transforming into a Super Saiyan. After reclaiming the girl, he returns to the bridge and sets her down gently._

_Everyone stares at him. He smiles bashfully and rubs the back of his head. He is surrounded by a golden aura, the hallmark of his Saiyan powers._

_Unexpectedly, the girl recoils. "Freak," she hisses. "Monster!" shouts another child. Suddenly all of the children surround him, jeering and calling him names. They speak with one voice, the same pitch, the same hatred and disgust dripping from every word._

_Trunks curls up into a ball. The warm glow of his powers has faded, leaving only a slight shimmer that serves to distinguish him from the other children, to set him apart, to mark him as an outsider._

_Another voice rings out, gruff and familiar. Trunks opens his eyes, though he does not recall shutting them; standing before him is his father, dressed in full battle regalia. He is not there to comfort his child, however._

"_How pathetic! A Saiyan,, cowering before a crowd of human whelps. But then again, you're not really a Saiyan, are you, __**boy**__?" He spits the last word out as if it were a curse before continuing, heedless of the silent sobs now racking Trunks' body. "No, you're merely a half breed. Pitiful. Even Kakarott makes a better Saiyan than you do! You could never measure up to the weakest of the pure-blooded Saiyans."_

_Vegeta approaches Trunks, who is once again scrunched into a ball, eyes clenched shut. He leans down next to him and whispers, "No one wants you, Trunks. The humans despise and fear you; the Saiyans mock you and spurn your weakness. Even your half-breed friend, Kakarott's spawn, has deserted you. He, with his bumbling idiocy and joviality, has managed to worm himself into the human world."_

_The Saiyan prince sneers. "Not you, though. Thoughts of conquest, of death, of war, set you apart. Your bloodlust, the only Saiyan legacy you possess, keeps you alone. Poor Trunks." Vegeta steps back, joining the children. "You're just a freak," he says coldly. _

_The cry echoes throughout the crowd. "Freak. Freak. Freak." The laughter resumes, taking on a cruel and slightly maniacal quality._

"_**Freak."**_

"_No…" Trunks whispers to himself. "I'm not a freak." Tears run down his cheeks. "I'm not a failure." He is trembling. "Please… please stop. I'll stop being different. I'll be normal." He is begging now._

"_I promise."_

Trunks awoke in a cold sweat. He sat up slowly, noting the pain caused by that simple movement; he slid back down to his former position.

After taking a quick survey of his body, he determined that he had cracked at least three ribs, sprained his wrist, and (if the dizziness he was experiencing was any indication) suffered a mind concussion.

"Crap," he groaned, then immediately regretted it as another wave of pain lanced through his body.

"Good morning to you, too." A voice resonated from a dark corner of the room, sounding amused. Trunks strained to see his visitor, receiving more pain for his efforts.

"Actually, it's not really morning yet. I think it's around three A.M. right now." The speaker moved closer to the bed, allowing Trunks to glimpse raven-colored hair and pale blue eyes.

"Akira? What are you doing here?" Trunks struggled to prop himself up.

After watching for several seconds, Akira sighed and reached out to help, ignoring Trunks' protests. "I wanted to make sure that you were okay. You were in pretty bad shape when I found you," he replied as he settled Trunks into a sitting position.

Trunks hesitated. Wording his question carefully, he asked, "Did you see what happened? I mean, how I got hurt?" He wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to be.

Silence. Then: "Yes. But I didn't tell anyone."

A wave of relief swept through Trunks. "Thank you," he whispered. He was unable to suppress a yawn as his body reminded him that he was not at full strength yet.

Akira smiled sadly. "I should go. You need sleep." He rummaged through his pockets. "But Trunks? If you ever need anything, just call me. I'll leave my number on the table." He did just that. "Well, good night Trunks."

Yawn. "Good night, Akira."

Seventeen watched as the lavender-haired man before him drifted off to sleep. He had learned something interesting about his target:

Trunks talked in his sleep.

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The next time Trunks awoke, it really was morning. He was met with singing birds, sunshine, and a slightly hysterical mother.

"Trunks!" She cried, nearly crushing him in her hug of doom. "My baby! You're alright! Oh, you had me so worried!"

Trunks grimaced and tried unsuccessfully to extract himself from her grip. "Sorry, Mom. But I don't see how breaking the rest of my ribs is going to fix that," he managed to spit out while simultaneously struggling for air.

Bulma released him, looking slightly abashed. Suddenly, she produced a breakfast platter laden with all of Trunks' favorite foods, which she offered to him. "Well, you need to eat! Doctors' orders. Besides, you must be a little peckish; you slept through dinner last night."

Bulma remained in the room as Trunks ate, hustling and bustling about, fussing over the state of the room. She straightened covers, picked up laundry, and rearranged the bookshelf. Though not normally one for domestic work, she wanted to ensure that Trunks ate properly. He had been so busy with work and… well, pretty much just work lately that he had been skipping meals.

Bulma blamed herself for this; it was she who had burdened Trunks with the rigors of corporate politics at such a young age. But it was for the best. If Trunks was going to be successful, then he needed to work hard and prove himself in regular society.

The cheery smile that was plastered across Bulma's face slowly faded as she watched Trunks gulp down food indiscriminately, barely pausing to chew or even breathe.

"Trunks?" Bulma whispered quietly. "What happened? You were brought in unconscious. The doctors said that a normal person would have died from the amount of trauma that your body went through."

The use of the word 'normal,' a term subconsciously meant to exclude him, caused Trunks to shiver. He didn't _ask_ to be a half-human, half-alien anomaly.

_Normal_ people wouldn't be in this mess. _Normal_ people wouldn't have to lie to their mothers about how they sustained near-fatal injuries. At least, Trunks didn't think they would. He had an idealized concept of normalcy.

Just as Trunks was formulating a response, there was a knock at the bedroom door. His mother hurried to answer it, the door swinging open to reveal Akira. The dark-haired man was smiling and carrying a small teddy bear bearing the message "Get Well Soon!"

"Good morning, Mrs. Briefs. Good morning, Trunks," Akira said, offering a slight bow to each. He entered the room gracefully, stating, "I just thought I'd stop by to see how you were doing, Trunks. I hope I'm not imposing."

Bulma brushed off his apprehension. "There's no need to be so formal, dear. Call me Bulma. And don't worry, you're welcome here anytime. You found Trunks and brought him back when he was injured, after all. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn't found him?"

Akira smiled slightly. "I'm certain he would have been fine, Mrs…. Bulma. He's very strong, I can tell. Oh, I brought this for you, Trunks." He held out the bear. "I didn't want to show up empty-handed. Sorry, it's not the most creative gift idea."

Trunks took the proffered stuffed animal, touched by the kind gesture. He set it on the bedside table.

"Oh, Akira, you're too kind!" Bulma gushed. "Have you eaten breakfast, sweetie? I'll go get you some food." She hurried off without waiting for an answer, leaving Trunks and Akira alone together.

Trunks smirked. "It's funny, Akira. You really don't strike me as a teddy bear kind of guy."

Akira matched the smirk with one of his own. "Well, what can I say? Deep down, I'm a sensitive guy only wants to make others happy," he professed mockingly.

"I bet you are," said Trunks with a laugh. As silence settled over the pair, Trunks pushed himself out of bed. With a superhuman effort, he managed not to stumble or show any outward signs of weakness. He caught Akira staring at him.

"I'm fine," Trunks insisted. He had, in his opinion, always been rather competent at weaving falsehoods.

Much to his chagrin, he was unable to fool Akira. The dark-haired man leaned close to Trunks and, still smiling, he whispered, "Liar."

Trunks shrugged. "Maybe I am. But so is everyone else. Are you trying to tell me that _you've_ never lied about anything in your cryptic, hidden past?"

At this, Akira's small smile stretched into a positively wicked grin. "Why, I never lie. But if I was a liar, well, one more lie about lying wouldn't really make a difference, now would it?"

Just as Trunks could lie, he was also rather skilled at seeing through the lies of others. Every human he had ever encountered could be seen through. It was all in their eyes: resentment, envy, anger, hate… Humans failed miserably at hiding these emotions.

Other life forms were harder; aliens like Piccolo and Mr. Popo presented more of a challenge. Because they seemed to have more control than humans, they could more easily conceal their thoughts. However, after spending years around their ilk, Trunks had grown able to detect their half-truths and fabrications.

Saiyans… Well, Trunks didn't exactly have a large subject pool when it came to Saiyans. Goku was completely guileless, and so barely ever attempted to lie, much less succeeded at it. His elder son, Gohan, seemed to share his father's fondness for the truth and avoided lying whenever possible. Goten, Trunks' childhood playmate, had no problem fibbing about small matters such as a prank pulled on a neighbor of a piece of food swiped from the kitchen. Nonetheless, Trunks had never known him to take anything seriously enough that lying was vital. Bra and Pan were both children; the concept of deceit eluded them still.

That just left his father, Vegeta, prince of all Saiyans, destroyer of planets, et cetera, et cetera. On the rare occasions that he deigned to communicate with Trunks, Trunks had no idea what to make of him. He showed no compassion, love, or even tolerance of others; his moods ranged from annoyed to furious. Trunks had no idea how much of it was sincere. He had no idea why his father was such a bitter person. Vegeta was the one living creature that Trunks simply could not understand.

Until now.

Staring at Akira, transfixed, Trunks realized that he had no clue what to make of this man who was little more than a stranger. Trunks peered closely at his face for the first time. He had effeminate, almost delicate features: a petite nose; small, soft lips; shoulder-length, gleaming, ebony-colored hair. Yet, his eyes were his most enchanting feature. They were the shade of glaciers, of steel, of frigid January mornings; they embodied cold. Behind them, Trunks could sense no emotion, despite the smile lurking on the other man's face. He might as well have been trying to peer through a mirror to the other side. The effect was disconcerting, but somehow familiar. As if he had seen those eyes on a stranger, or in a movie, or sometime a long while ago.

What had happened to him, Trunks wondered, that had made him so guarded? For Akira was not a cruel person, of that Trunks was certain. The merciless do not carry unconscious strangers home. Sociopaths don't bring teddy bears to injured acquaintances.

Caught up in his analysis of the man before him, Trunks took a moment to realize that Akira had begun to speak.

"… have to go now. Feel better, and stay out of trouble. I might not be there to help you out next time." Akira winked before getting up and heading for the door. Trunks took a few stumbling steps after him, causing Akira to turn around and look at him questioningly.

"I'll… see you soon, right?" Trunks said hesitantly. Since they barely knew each other, Trunks was worried that Akira would just disappear, never to be heard from again. For some reason, that would make Trunks very…

"Will do," replied Akira, tilting his hand in a gesture of farewell as he exited.

Trunks had his number, after all.

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Sorry this update took so long. I've been busy/lazy/sick. The next chapter should be up much sooner because I have the majority of it planned out already.

As always, thank you for reading. I love it when you guys leave comments, so please write a review! Reviews make the world go round. Actually, that might have something to do with the sun... Oh, well! I should have paid more attention in Physics. Until next time!

-Shadow


	6. Finding Out

**Disclaimer:** Here's a list of some of the things that I don't own: Mars, a trampoline, a million dollars, and Dragon Ball Z. Oh, well!

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**Chapter Six: Finding Out**

Seventeen made a mental note to add librarians to the list of things he hated.

By now, the list could fill multiple phonebooks.

His newfound dislike of librarians stemmed from the elderly, hawklike, bespectacled, and very stereotypical woman hovering inches away. Since Seventeen entered the library, she had been circling him much like the bird of prey she resembled. Obviously put out by his less-than-stellar clothing (he felt no need to change from his trusty jeans and t-shirt just to go look something up on a computer), the decrepit caretaker had branded him a hoodlum and so would not trust him alone in her precious library.

So for the past three hours, Seventeen had been attempting to ignore her, an endeavor that he failed miserably at.

Damn old lady.

Still, Seventeen did not regret his decision to come here. Libraries meant computers, computers meant information, and information meant a more seamless disguise.

His main goal was to find out what the hell had happened. Why wasn't he all-powerful? Why were dead people once again alive, back to haunt him like ghosts rising from the past. Not that he cared about the people themselves. No, if Seventeen killed you, you should have the good grace and sense to stay dead, damn it!

Unfortunately, the computer wasn't omniscient. It could only tell him about the world now, not what had changed.

So he started with the person most important to him: himself. And here was what he found:

Two other Androids had terrorized the country briefly before meeting their downfall at the hand of Goku and company.

He and Eighteen had indeed been activated and sent to fight.

One of the fighters had a description eerily similar to Trunks, although he couldn't have been more than a year old back then.

He had been consumed by Cell.

That last bit was what shocked him most of all. As far as Seventeen knew, he destroyed Cell, the so-called "Perfect Android," while it was floating in an incubation tank in Gero's lab. For good measure, he and Eighteen had burned the lab down afterward. Hence, Cell should not exist. Especially because, upon their arrival, he would still have been a grotesque fetus-thing, unable to move or breathe, much less fight.

Well, nothing else made sense. Why should that?

Seventeen also found a list of humans who had been born or who had died within the last twenty years. He scanned rapidly through, his databases automatically cross-referencing this with prior knowledge. The multitude of contradictions gave Seventeen a headache.

Ignoring this, he decided to search for certain people. First up: Son Goku.

The computer listed a date for his death. Actually, it listed multiple dates, as well as for his birth. Seventeen assumed that this was because of all the times he had been wished back with the Dragon Balls. However, the computer assured him that Goku was currently alive.

Joy.

He spent a while hunting down the rest of the Z fighters. None of them were dead at the moment.

See, now that just sucks. Seventeen put all that effort into killing those guys and they had the gall to come back?! Some people were just rude, plain and simple.

Seventeen tried searching his own name with no success. Same with Eighteen. Well, they were never born, were never registered as citizens, so why would the computer know them by name? It was as clueless about his fate as he was.

Wait, that wasn't true. The whole never being born part. He was born, a long time ago. Back then, he had a name; he had a heart. But Seventeen knew exactly when that person died.

Sato Akira, as well as his twin sister Ayame, had both died December 17, 763.

After years of tinkering and hibernation, they were reborn as Seventeen and Eighteen, the most feared beings on the planet. Formerly. Or imaginarily. At this point, Seventeen wasn't entirely sure.

After failing at his quest of self-discovery, Seventeen immersed himself in news articles from the past nineteen years, marveling at the differences. The changes began the day Freiza died, killed not by Goku but by a mysterious lavender-haired stranger who appeared in a yellow pod seemingly out of thin air.

Seventeen could guess who that was. And for good measure, he could even identify the ship, which was currently lodged in his back pocket.

So Trunks had wheedled his way into the past and fucked everything up. From Seventeen's perspective, of course.

Goku hadn't died from heart disease. The Z fighters hadn't been destroyed by the androids. Seventeen had not reigned supreme.

No, Cell had shown up and eaten him! WHAT THE HELL?!

This was all definitely that pathetic, whimpering, annoying excuse for a fighter's fault. Somehow Trunks had gone to the past, had cheated fate, and had gotten strong enough to beat Seventeen and Eighteen single-handedly.

Life wasn't fair.

Seventeen's internal rant was then interrupted by a loud, irritating jingling sound. He blinked, befuddled.

The malicious librarian pounced. "NO CELL PHONES IN THE LIBRARY!" she shrilled, pointing to a sign saying just that.

Oh, right. The cell phone. He fished it out of his pocket, gave the librarian a cool look, and strolled out.

He would kill her someday. And he would really, _really_ enjoy it. But first, he had a call to attend to.

Seventeen flipped the phone open in a single, fluid motion.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end was familiar. After all, only one person had the number of the phone he had pilfered from its rightful owner. It was brand new, and the cell phone service was already paid for. He wasn't worried about it being cancelled, either.

It was incredibly difficult to make contact from the bottom of a lake, after all. Especially when you had no phone.

"Hi, Akira. It's Trunks." The aforementioned individual sounded nervous.

"Okay. What's up?" drawled Seventeen, purposely displaying a decided lack of interest.

"Oh! Well, I was thinking," Trunks said hesitantly, sounding like a twelve-year-old boy about to ask someone out on a first date, "do you want to hang out for a while? That is, if you're not busy."

"…Sure."

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Seventeen watched in awe as the man across from him shoveled yet another bowl of rice down his throat.

Now, Seventeen knew that humans had to eat. Just another reason why they were inferior to a perfect creature such as himself. Seventeen required no sustenance to survive, although he could consume pretty much anything if the situation warranted it. Case and point: He currently sat with a plate in front of him, piled with rice and steamed vegetables. The small bites he took made their way down to where his stomach used to be; he would have to figure out a way to remove them later.

Seventeen did not think, however, that most humans ate thirteen bowls of soup, five plates of vegetables, and twenty-three and counting mounds of rice. Although Trunks ate this vast quantity of food with the utmost restraint and grace, the sheer amount was nauseating.

Their waitress shuffled over apprehensively. "Excuse me, sirs. Do you need anything else?" the girl mumbled, peering meekly from behind bangs that shrouded her eyes.

Trunks smiled genially at her. "No thank you, miss. I've had just about enough." He glanced over at his companion. "What about you, Akira? You've barely eaten anything."

Seventeen waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not very hungry. Thank you, though."

Procuring a bill from somewhere, the waitress placed it on the table, bobbed her head politely to the two seated gentlemen, and took her leave.

Trunks picked up the check and, after examining it briefly, laid several bills on the table. Seventeen allowed him to do this, although with apprehension. An incredible proud and independent individual, he never relied on others for anything. But seeing as Seventeen had no job (and thus no money) and had procured all of his current possessions through dubious means, he thought it best to permit Trunks to pay. Either that or kill all occupants of the restaurant, which Seventeen's newfound concept of restraint advised him against.

"Sorry if my timing sucks. I wasn't really thinking when I suggested we come here to eat. I mean, most people don't eat huge meals at three in the afternoon, do they?" Trunks sighed and ran his hand through his lengthy lilac locks, a nervous habit he had been unable to break since childhood.

Being the perceptive person that he was, Seventeen noticed Trunks' discomfort. Being the bastard that he was, Seventeen decided to make it worse.

"What are we doing here?" he questioned, voice devoid of all emotion.

Trunks started. "Yeah, like I said, not my brightest idea. But still…"

Seventeen cut him off. "That's not what I meant," he retorted, leaning closer and locking Trunks in a gaze. "This is all so… commonplace. The people sipping tea. The laughter. The cheery servers popping in and out of the room."

Trunks sat frozen in his seat. His usual witticisms, his smart remarks, had suddenly abandoned him. He could see where this was going, and it took all of his composure not to clench his eyes shut and pretend not to hear.

_That_ would be pathetic.

Seventeen continued, his voice low and even. "You don't fit in here, Trunks. You try really hard, but you just don't fit. You could break everything with a sweep of your hand, and you're constantly petrified of doing just that. Everything is too fragile. You don't belong."

Trunks couldn't breathe. Here was a man, little more than a stranger, that Trunks had connected with. He felt that they were similar. And now this person, who Trunks so desperately wanted to befriend, was calling him out on his abnormality.

Seventeen leaned back, closing his eyes gently, apparently unaware of his companion's inner turmoil. "But that's okay. I don't belong here, either," he finished, voice so soft that Trunks barely heard it above the throbbing of his own heart.

Was that acceptance? Trunks sat, slightly dazed, staring at the man recumbent across from him. Were his fears of his own strangeness unfounded? After all of these years of self-alienation, such a casual dismissal seemed unreal.

Seventeen opened his eyes, smirking languidly. "Besides, being average is boring." He winked.

Trunks couldn't help it; a radiant smile stretched across his face.

"Yeah. I guess you're right."

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Thank you for reading! I bow and bid you _adieu_. I sincerely hope that you enjoyed this installment of **Double-Crossed**. Whether you did or not, feel free to let me know! I should have the next chapter up by next week.

-Shadow


	7. Growing Pains

**Disclaimer:** Really? Do I have to say it every time? Fine. I don't own Dragon Ball Z. Happy now?

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**Chapter 7: Growing Pains**

Paperwork sucked. And as Vice President of an important company, Trunks had a lot of it. So here he sat, cooped up in an office at six o'clock on a Saturday evening, trying to get through the massive stack of bills, invoices, contracts, and other such annoyances piled upon his desk. He had been there for the past eight hours, trying to focus, with limited success.

Even now, he stared off in to space, completely ignoring the task at hand. Instead, he was focused on his favorite subject of contemplation: Akira. The man had been the highlight of Trunks' life since he dropped in a few weeks ago. He was not a puzzle, but several puzzles jumbled together at random with half of the pieces removed afterward. It was impossible to make sense of him. He was thoughtful, witty, sarcastic, poised, polite, entertaining, and a thousand other adjectives. However, Trunks had no idea how many of these characteristics were genuine and how many were a show put on for others.

Trunks shook his head, attempting to draw himself back to his work. He managed to sign a couple of papers and read a few letters before his mind wandered yet again. If he was honest with himself, Trunks knew that he was thinking about Akira far more than he should. It was not his style. Trunks didn't really worry about other people, didn't really make friends. He was popular back when he was in school, sure, but he hadn't felt the need to remain in contact with anyone after graduation. At the age of twenty, he had never had a girlfriend. It had never bothered him, really. He just wasn't attracted to any of the girls he knew.

For the first time, Trunks caught himself wondering why that was. He knew several beautiful, intelligent, personable women, the kind that most guys would give their left arm to date. If he wanted, Trunks could have his pick of them; his looks, wealth, and personality ensured that. Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Maybe… maybe he was afraid of their normalcy. Even if a girl accepted who he was, he could never get over the fact that she was just a human, that he could snap her in half if he wanted to. His Saiyan pride, cultivated by his father in some sick desire to remind Trunks just how different he was, told him that he was above normal people. He was the heir to the throne of a race of warriors! Yeah, what a privilege that was. A dead race with no planet and no future. Just Trunks, his father, his sister, Goku, Gohan, Pan, and Goten.

Goten. Like Trunks, Goten was half-Saiyan, half-human. Unlike Trunks, he didn't hate himself for it. He didn't feel the need to emotionally distance himself from humans. Although they had been friends their entire lives, Trunks could see that Goten was moving away from him. Goten had other friends, Goten went on dates; Goten didn't see how different they were from everyone else. Trunks realized with a jolt that he hadn't seen Goten in two months. The thought had the bitterness of a loss about it. Trunks knew that they had changed, that Goten, his constant companion, was drifting away and might never come back. It was a new sensation to Trunks, this feeling of loss. It was thoroughly unpleasant. Goten had been the most important person to Trunks for many years, the only person that Trunks had ever been close to, the first and only friend that Trunks had ever had.

Until Akira. Trunks felt a sort of magnetic attraction towards him that he had never experienced with anyone, not even Goten. He loved being around him. Trunks couldn't wait to see him again, even when they had just parted. The mere thought of Akira made Trunks smile, made an odd feeling of elation sweep over his body.

Because Trunks was prone to self-criticism, he noted that he sounded like a teenage girl with a crush. Not an appealing notion. The comparison made him pause. He didn't like Akira like _that_… did he? He had no base line to compare it with; he'd never thought himself in love with anyone, male or female. Honestly, Trunks had never considered the possibility that he was gay. The idea didn't bother him, but it was one of the many commonplace things that Trunks had never realized were important.

He had no way to tell what his feelings meant, and he certainly wouldn't ask anyone else about it. So he decided that he would be content knowing what his feelings meant to him. Unclear sensations aside, Trunks knew that being with Akira gave him a sense of pleasure. He knew that he trusted the man more than anyone else, though without a specific reason. He also knew that, if the occasion arose, he would do anything necessary to protect Akira. They had a bond, though Trunks knew not what it was made of or where it would lead them.

Making a decision based on his newly-confronted feelings, Trunks pulled out his cell phone. He punched in a few numbers and waited as the phone rang. He heard a voice on the other end. "Hello, Akira. It's Trunks. Are you busy? No, it's not important. I just don't feel like working any more and thought I'd see if you wanted to hang out. Okay, I'll meet you at Central Park in five minutes. See you then." Trunks hung up the phone, feeling more excited than he should. He grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and began to walk out of the building. On his way out, he bid his secretary a cheerful goodnight and told her to go home, that he would see her on Monday. He stepped outside, feeling more cheerful than he had for as long as he could remember. He glanced at the sunset. It really was beautiful, he thought. An outward manifestation of his newfound happiness.

That lasted all of ten seconds.

"Boy!" a familiar voice growled. Trunks' heart sank; he knew that voice and what would inevitably follow. He turned, and came face to face with his dear father. The following conversation would be pointless. Trunks knew that, whatever words were said, the outcome would be the same.

"Time to spar. I hope you haven't spent all your time playing human in that office. If you don't train constantly, you'll never be worthy of the title of Saiyan Prince." The contempt in Vegeta's voice was painfully evident. He turned on his heel and strolled in the direction of the private park they used for training, not even glancing back to see if Trunks was following.

Trunks trod along after him without a word of protest. Nothing he said would help him escape the impending beating. Indeed, any words he uttered would be perceived as a complaint, which meant weakness, which meant a couple of extra cracked ribs.

Trunks sent a mental apology to Akira. An attempt at a phone call when there was training to be done would be tantamount to suicide. He would make it up to Akira later, would come up with some excuse that he was certain that his companion would see through. But right now, he had to worry about keeping as many of his bones intact as he could.

Father and son walked through the halls together, finally arriving at the park where Trunks had first met Akira. They stepped through the metal Capsule Corp. doors to the outside. The doors sealed shut, a barrier between the human world and the world of the Saiyans, a world of blood, battle, and death. The serene surroundings provided an artistic contrast to the struggle that was about to take place. Had Trunks been poetically inclined, perhaps he would have noticed it. Instead, he grimly took up a fighting stance and braced himself for what was to come.

********************************************

Seventeen did not enjoy being kept waiting. He had come to the park at Trunks' request, and now the Saiyan princeling was nowhere to be found. So Seventeen, being the patient and considerate person that he was, decided to wait. It's not like he had anything better to do. He had long since come to the conclusion that humans were of no interest unless they were being used for target practice.

There were a few exceptions to this rule, namely both Trunks and pseudo-Trunks. Trunks was good for use as a sustainable punching bag and a constant source of pain-based amusement. While Seventeen was certain that pseudo-Trunks would also be entertaining in that manner, Seventeen had other plans for him. He wasn't quite sure what those plans were yet, but he would figure it out and they would be satisfying as hell. Even with his limited knowledge of human emotions, he could tell that Trunks was becoming attached to him. He could use that to his advantage in the future, he was certain.

Thus, Seventeen had been standing in the park for the past half an hour and his toy had yet to arrive. So, like a jilted child, he set out to find it. Using Trunks' ki signature, Seventeen located him in the garden where they had first met. Annoyed that the boy showed no sign of movement, Seventeen began to stroll towards Capsule Corp. He would have to show Trunks just how valuable his time was and how incredibly rude it was to keep people waiting. This righteous purpose carried him the nine blocks to the lavender-haired Saiyan's domain.

Upon his arrival, Seventeen lightly hopped the fence. Much more convenient than locating a door. The twilight lent a mysterious air to the garden, Seventeen decided in a fit of humanlike poetry. He walked slowly through the trees, annoyance draining out of his body. A small, pale flower danced in the moonlight. For the first time, Seventeen noticed its beauty. Humans, with all their cities and cars, were destroying nature while Seventeen, through his destruction, was saving it. Seventeen smiled sadly, a smile unique in its lack of bitterness, mockery, or deceit.

As if he could ever be the hero. He was a monster, a fact that he recognized and accepted wholeheartedly. To prove this, he reached out, plucked the flower from its stem, and crushed it between his fingertips. _That_ was what humans had made him and what he was glad to be.

Seventeen remembered that he had come here in order to find Trunks. He checked his sensors, determined the boy's location, and strolled towards it. It registered, somewhere in Seventeen's subconscious, that Trunks' ki signature was unusually faint. As Seventeen found him, he discovered why.

Trunks was slumped against a nearby tree trunk, eyes staring vacantly at the ground. Blood streaked through his pale hair, down his arms, and through his clothing. His clothes looked decidedly worse for the wear, missing both a sleeve and a pant leg. Bruises were already forming on every inch of visible skin on Trunks' body. All in all, Trunks looked like he had just taken the beating of his life.

Seventeen stared, an unprecedented rush of feelings flowing through him. The blood was the first thing Seventeen noticed. The sight of blood always excited him in a twisted way, sending a wave of energy and desire through him. The desire to see more, to make every last drop of blood run to the ground. The desire to watch his enemies writhe in pain. The desire to hear them beg, hear them cry his name in search of mercy. Desire, pure and simple, as a result of complete power over another creature. This time was no exception, but the desire he felt was a shade different than usual. He didn't know why. Perhaps it was tainted by the other emotions he felt. _He_ had not inflicted this pain of Trunks, who Seventeen had claimed as a possession when they first met, whether Trunks knew it or not. And Seventeen didn't like others damaging things that belonged to him. There was also a brief flash of concern, which was quickly alleviated. After all, Trunks was injured, not dead. Finally, Seventeen noted the esthetic quality of the scene. Trunks fit the dusk perfectly, the moonlight mingling with the blood in his hair. Unlike the flower, the picture was already marred by pain and destruction, making it all the more beautiful to Seventeen.

Shaking off his musings, Seventeen approached Trunks. He was conscious, but only just. What to do? Seventeen could bring him into Capsule Corp. again, but it might look suspicious that Seventeen had supposedly discovered an injured Trunks on two separate occasions. He could leave Trunks there, but Trunks might remember seeing him there and might confront him. Then Seventeen would lose his source of entertainment. Seventeen wasn't really staying anywhere, so he had no place of his own to bring Trunks. Fine, then. He would just take Trunks to his own apartment. Seventeen had found it in his copious amounts of free time since arriving here. It was the penthouse of a large residential building a few miles away.

Seventeen opted to fly rather than drag the semi-conscious Saiyan around the city all night. He lifted Trunks gently and silently rose into the air. At this point, Seventeen didn't really care if anyone saw him, including Trunks himself. He glided silently above the city. Trunks mumbled incoherently, but Seventeen ignored him. Within minutes they had arrived on the balcony of Trunks' apartment. Seventeen tested the sliding glass door and was slightly saddened to find it unlocked. He wouldn't get to smash anything tonight. Pity. Well, when you're a super-powerful half-alien warrior, burglars are probably not a big deal.

Seventeen stepped inside what appeared to be a living room, noting with distaste that it was rather disorganized. He deposited Trunks gently on the couch and began rummaging through the apartment in hopes of finding some form of medical care. His search led him to Trunks' bedroom. The room itself was Spartan, painted a dull grey with no pictures and no furniture except a bed and a dresser. In the dresser drawers, Seventeen found clothes, papers, and photographs, many featuring a younger Trunks and a dark-haired boy who bore a striking resemblance to Son Goku. He made a mental note of that for later. Finally, in the last drawer, he found what he was looking for: a senzu bean.

Clutching his bounty, Seventeen returned to the living room. He forced the bean down Trunks' throat, perhaps not as gently as he should have. Color returned to Trunks' face and his wounds began to stitch themselves shut. With a slight cough, he struggled to a sitting position.

Seventeen watched him silently, all hints of emotion wiped from his face. He knew what had happened, of course. He sat down on the couch a few inches away from Trunks, staring intently. Once Trunks was looking at him, Seventeen voiced the one question on his mind. "Why?"

Trunks knew what he meant. With an effort more mental than physical, he replied, "Because I'm not who I'm supposed to be. Who I could have been. Once upon a time, a different time, I was the only one left. I was the strongest of all of us. Including Father. So that's who he expects me to be: the hero, the savior, the best. That's the son that he could have had. But instead, he's stuck with me. I have the same genes, the same half-Saiyan DNA, but I'm just not strong enough for him. I spend too much time wishing to be a human and not enough time trying to be a Saiyan, he says. So he tries to make me stronger in the only way he knows how: by beating the shit out of me until I can't walk. He doesn't hate me. He's not intentionally abusive. But he's not from Earth. On his planet, the strongest did whatever the hell they want and hurt whomever they felt like hurting. He's trying to make me the strongest, to protect me from harm by harming me first."

Trunks didn't realize that his speech would make no sense to a normal person. A normal person would call the police if he or she found out that a man was injuring his son to the extent that Trunks was injured. As amusing as that would be, it would cause tension amidst their family and would solve nothing. However, in Trunks' mind, Seventeen would understand without knowing, would fill in the blanks until it made sense enough.

Seventeen was filling in blanks, but not the ones that Trunks thought. The different time, the other Trunks… perhaps that was the world that Seventeen knew, his precious kingdom that the real Trunks had shattered. He would find out more, when the time came. Now, though, Trunks needed to know where Seventeen stood. "I'll train with you," he said simply.

Trunks looked like he wanted to laugh. "You don't understand what that means. Training with me, my father, or anyone like us is not something that just anyone can do."

Meeting his gaze, Seventeen shrugged. "I know."

And Trunks believed him. Without cause or reason, Trunks knew that his companion could keep up with him and would help make him stronger. A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. "Thank you," he whispered, dropping his gaze. He reclined on the couch, exhaustion sweeping over him.

Seventeen leaned forward, once again catching Trunks' eye. With complete sincerity, he said something that he never had before, not even to his sister. He wasn't sure if Trunks heard it, because he was already drifting towards unconsciousness.

"I'll protect you."

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I'm not dead! Yeah, sorry I haven't updated in a while. I was stopped by a combination of extracurricular activities, exams, and laziness. Mostly the last one. But rest assured that I will update frequently over the summer! I know where I want this story to go and some of the things I want to happen, so I just have to connect the dots. Anyway, please leave me a review, because that would make me incredibly happy and I would be forever in your debt. See ya!

Until next time,

Shadow


	8. Bonding Time

Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue. I don't own Dragonball Z and neither do you.

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**Chapter Eight: Bonding Time**

Trunks awoke to the smell of something burning. Startled, he rolled off the couch, falling unceremoniously in to a heap on the floor. Trunks wasn't entirely sure why he was on the couch in the first place, but he had more important things to deal with. Namely, why did his apartment reek of smoke?

He stumbled towards the kitchen, the source of the smell. Much to his surprise, he saw Akira standing at the stove, staring at a blazing frying pan. It looked to Trunks that, before catching on fire, the pan had contained eggs (still in their shells), an orange, some sort of murky brown liquid, and ketchup. Everything was quickly turning in to a charred blob of unappetizing repulsiveness.

"Akira."

The dark haired man turned to face his host. "Yes, Trunks?"

"What are you doing?"

Blink. "Making breakfast."

"Oh."

"Just go sit down. It'll be done in a couple of minutes." The pan gave a discouraging burble behind him. Trunks grimaced and moved reluctantly into the dining room, praying that the meal would taste better than it looked and smelled. He really doubted it, but he could hope. He sat down to wait.

An hour later, Akira walked in and proudly presented a bowl of cheerios and a glass of milk. He did not say what had happened to the first dish. Trunks did not ask. He simply offered his thanks, reached out for the food, and began eating. His stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten last night…

Oh.

Trunks slowly put down his cereal. He locked eyes with Akira, who had taken the seat across from him.

"You found me last night." It was not a question.

"Correct."

Again. Trunks remembered that Akira was the one who found him the last time it happened. "You brought me home."

Another noise of confirmation.

Trunks smiled bitterly. "You must think I'm pathetic," he said, voice filled with self-loathing. He stared at his breakfast, determined not to meet Akira's gaze. Here was a person that he truly respected, and he was acting like a sniveling weakling.

Akira reached out a hand and gently tilted Trunks' head until their eyes met. His gloves felt cool against Trunks' skin. The sensation caused Trunks to blush almost imperceptibly.

Seventeen noticed the faint pink tinge that appeared on Trunks' cheeks. He smirked. Voice low, he whispered, "You're not pathetic. You are amazingly strong. You practically run the largest company in the country. You are extremely intelligent. You're interesting. Plus, you are incredibly sexy." He added that last part mostly to see Trunks turn a shade that a tomato would have envied. It was true, though. Trunks was a Saiyan, so he was pretty much guaranteed a well-toned body. Even as a kid, the real Trunks had been more muscular than most normal humans Seventeen had slaughtered. Granted, most of the times Seventeen had seen him, Trunks had been beaten half to death (usually by Seventeen himself), but when he wasn't grievously injured, he was very attractive. He had money, which counted for a lot with humans. He had power, something that Seventeen could appreciate. So, from a purely objective standpoint, Seventeen came to the conclusion that Trunks was indeed sexy.

He could probably have almost any girl he wanted. But he didn't. Seventeen wondered why that was. Perhaps that reason was the same reason that Trunks had yet to return to a normal color after Seventeen's less than innocent comment.

After a supremely Herculean effort, Trunks managed to choke out, "What? I'm sorry, I think I misheard you. Or I have brain damage. Given how the past couple weeks have been going, I think the latter is more likely."

Seventeen winked. "Don't worry about it." The not-so-subtle look of panic on Trunks' face told him that Trunks would indeed worry. Hm. Not Seventeen's problem. "So…"

"So what?"

"So, I promised I'd train with you. When can we start?"

Relieved that the conversation had returned to what counted for normal in his mind, Trunks smiled eagerly, though he tried to mask it at first. "I'm still not sure that that is a good idea. You could get seriously hurt."

Seventeen waved off his concerns with a flick of the wrist. "Nonsense! I can hold my own against you. Besides," he drawled, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes, "you would never hurt me, would you, Trunks?"

Another blush crept across Trunks' face. His companion was acting rather strange today. Still, not even this oddness could dull Trunks' excitement over their training. He thought that it would be a good thing to spar with Akira; though, if anyone had asked, Trunks could not have told them the source of his eagerness. He wasn't quite ready to admit it to himself yet, much less another person.

Akira roused him from his thoughts. "Where would you like to spar, Trunks?"

Trunks blinked. "What, you mean right now?"

"Why not? Unless you're still hurt from last night…" The concern in Akira's voice sent an odd tingling sensation down Trunks' spine.

"No, now is fine," Trunks answered firmly. "But I'm not entirely sure where to go. I mean, we could fight at Capsule Corp, but that would probably worry some of the employees. Plus, it's not my favorite place to hang around in my free time." The reason why remained unexpressed but acknowledged by both men.

Akira smiled suddenly. "I know where we can go!" In an uncharacteristic display of eagerness, he pulled Trunks to the back door and onto the porch. He was about to take off when Trunks interrupted him.

"You can fly," Trunks remembered suddenly. That's how he'd gotten home last night.

Akira's grin widened. "Just like Peter Pan."

Astounded by the reference, Trunks laughed. "Fairy tales just don't seem like your thing, Akira."

Floating lightly into the air, Akira reached out a hand towards Trunks. "But of course. Just a pinch of fairy dust and we're off to Neverland."

Trunks' laughter rang out over the city as they leaped into the sky. The pair glided past the skyscrapers, making their way out of the metropolis. With Seventeen leading the way, they embarked on a fifteen-minute flight that brought them into the mountains. They arrived in the midst of a copse of trees. Nearby, the sound of a river completely erased all traces of civilization.

Trunks gazed in wonder. "I've never seen this place before." He spun slowly, taking in the picturesque surroundings. He alighted gracefully, his feet barely making a sound as they touched the soft earth.

Seventeen landed beside him. He too observed the grotto, taking note of the blooming flowers and the chirping birds. "It's… changed since I was here last. I think it's fitting, though. So many things have changed. Of all of them, this one makes the most sense. Or at least, it's symbolic of everything else, rather than being its own separate surprise."

"What do you mean, Akira?"

"Don't worry about it. It's just the past, which doesn't matter anymore. What matters it the present. And presently," Seventeen smiled, "I'm going to show you how a real warrior fights."

A feral grin appeared on Trunks' face. "Is that right?" he purred, stepping closer to Seventeen. His smirk widened. "You'll have to catch me first." With that, Trunks took off, flying into the mountain range and out of sight. Thus the chase began.

After ten minutes of gliding low to the ground and weaving in between boulders, ducking into damp caves, and slinking about the mountainside, Trunks was certain that he had lost Akira. He found a well-hidden cave, completely out of sight and about two miles away from his starting point, in which to plan his next move.

Trunks settled down, mentally congratulating himself on a job well done. It would probably take Akira hours to find him again. In fact, he had time for a quick nap. He was still rather tired from the day before, despite what he had told his friend. Closing his eyes, Trunks readied himself for sleep.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

"Boo." Trunks opened his eyes and sprang up in surprise, colliding with Akira. They both fell in to the ground with a resounding thud.

As he disentangled himself, Trunks looked thoroughly put out. "How did you find me so quickly?" he asked, with what could only be described as a pout on his face.

Akira laughed. The laughter bounced around the cave; it seemed like the entire world was in on the joke. "Don't feel bad. I used to come to these mountains all the time with my sister."

Trunks decided that it would be best for his pride if they changed the subject. He did not like being patronized. "So, you have a sister?"

All jubilation instantly vanished from Akira's face. His eyes narrowed. "Had," he replied shortly. An awkward silence fell, lengthy seconds creeping by as Trunks tried to come up with something appropriate to say. Fortunately, Akira saved him the trouble by directing the conversation to a less daunting topic. "Hey, are we going to spar, or just play hide-and-seek all day?"

Trunks pushed himself up off the ground, dusted himself off, and offered a hand to Akira. "Whenever you're ready, my friend." Akira reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling himself up. In one fluid motion, he wrenched Trunk's arm behind his back, forcing him to turn around. Akira leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"Go."

Trunks elbowed Akira in the stomach, successfully freeing himself. He followed up with a roundhouse kick. Akira blocked this and responded with a series of punches. They continued to exchange blows in this fashion for quite some time, each man landing and receiving hits powerful enough to kill normal people. Akira managed to kick Trunks in the gut, sending him flying out of the cave and back into open air. Quite without meaning to, Trunks powered up to his Super Saiyan form.

Seventeen grinned eagerly at the sight of the familiar golden aura surrounding Trunks. _That_ was more like it. He flew out to meet Trunks, ready to find out exactly what he could do. Seventeen fired a ki blast, which Trunks easily batted aside. Trunks smirked. "Aww, you wanna play? Then let's go." He launched a larger ki blast back at Seventeen, who managed to dodge. The ball of energy hit the mountains behind them, causing a minor avalanche. The fighting resumed full force, this time with energy attacks thrown into the mix. The pair flitted about the entire mountain range, leaving in their wake crumbling mountains and petrified woodland creatures. Finally, Seventeen slammed his fists into Trunks skull, causing him to drop to the ground in the precise fashion of a rock. Seventeen followed, landing atop Trunks as he struggled to get up.

Keeping a knee firmly planted on Trunks' chest, Seventeen reached out and flicked a stray strand of hair hanging across Trunks' face. "I win," he stated. He then rolled to the ground next to Trunks. Both men were breathing heavily and sported a lovely new collection of bruises and cuts. Trunks powered down. He had a large gash across his forehead, while Seventeen couldn't' move two of the fingers on his left hand.

Trunks rolled over to look at Akira. "That was fun," he mused. "We should do it again sometime."

Akira nodded. "Sounds good. But first…" With an effort, he rose up off of the ground. "Let's go swimming!" He then proceeded to strip down to his boxers, seemingly oblivious to the now-familiar flush creeping across Trunks' features.

Trunks couldn't help staring at Akira. He had seen plenty of guys in various states of undress throughout his life, thanks to martial arts as well as normal teenage activities like gym class and sporting events. Still, a peculiar feeling swept over him at the sight of Akira. Perhaps he was coming down with something. Following that line of reasoning, swimming would not be the best thing for him to do. However, the water looked awfully inviting so Trunks, brushing aside any worries, illness-related or otherwise, followed suit and removed his clothing, which was rather worse for the wear after both last evening and this morning's sparring.

Without another word, Trunks ran to the river bank, Akira following closely behind. As Trunks dove into the water, he felt a sort of elation that had not surfaced for many years and that he really had no reason for feeling now. He rose to the surface with a sigh of pleasure, content to float there until the end of time. He could sense Akira a few feet away, in a similar state of relaxation. Turning to face him, Trunks noticed that his companion was deep in thought. He watched for a few moments, catching Akira's attention.

"What are you looking at?" Akira asked, without a hint of suspicion or sarcasm. Cut off from the city, these mountains seemed to exist apart from outside interference. As a result, there was a peace here that would have been completely at odds in West City.

Trunks smiled softly. "Nothing, really. I was just wondering what you were thinking about."

Turning his gaze to the sky, Akira replied, "The past, a little. The present. Mostly the future."

"Yeah." Trunks closed his eyes. "The future used to worry me. But right now, right here, I can believe that things will turn out okay."

Silence fell. Not an awkward silence, but the peaceful sort that comes amongst friends when words are no longer necessary. The wind was blowing softly in the background. Clouds began gathering overhead. Trunks could feel drowsiness sneaking up on him, aided by the physical and mental exhaustion the last couple of days had brought.

A drop of water fell on his forehead, bringing him back to reality. Trunks opened his eyes and saw that the clouds overhead had turned an ominous shade of grey. Rain was beginning to fall all around them, rhythmically shattering the silence that had surrounded them. As if in response, the wind picked up, shifting from a whisper to a rather audible rush.

Trunks grimaced. "I really don't want to fly back to the city in this." The rain began falling harder even as he spoke.

Akira rose up out of the water, hovering just above its surface. "Let's wait the storm out in a cave." He flew quickly to the shore and gathered up their clothes, which were now wet and muddy in addition to torn and bloody. Together he and Trunks hastened to the mountainside, ducking into the first cavern they could find.

As they entered the cave, a massive thunderclap sounded. This seemed to signal the rain to come down even harder. From inside the cave, the pair watched as the wind ripped branches from trees and their peaceful river swelled up to pull rocks and plants from the shore into its wake.

Suddenly noticing a drop in temperature combined with his damp skin, Trunks shivered. Using a ki manipulation, he created a flickering energy ball that gave off heat. Not quite as nice as a fire, but the best he could do under these circumstances. It did little to brighten the dim cave. "Well, this sucks," he muttered.

Akira, on the other hand, was not saddened in the least. As he stared at the tempest outside, his eyes sparkled, dancing with light reflected from frequent bolts of lightning. "Thunderstorms are fascinating. They have so much uncontrollable power, reshaping the earth, dictating the fate of humans, going wherever they please."

Trunks laughed. "You make rain sound like some sort of almighty destroyer." Akira merely smiled mysteriously. The two settled back, watching the rain rush past, illuminated by the feeble glow of ki and by the unpredictable lightning outside.

Trunks' stomach rumbled, reminding him that he only had a bowl of cereal that morning. It would probably be a while before the weather calmed down enough for them to leave, so he would just have to wait to eat until then. At least it was Saturday, so he didn't have anywhere that he had to be. The day struck a chord in Trunks' memory.

"Hey, Akira."

"Hn?"

"Can I ask you a favor?"

"Shoot."

"It's a pain, but my birthday is tomorrow, which means that my mother is going to throw a huge party for me. She'll invite all of her friends, which means a lot of undesired pleasantries and forced conversations for me. So I would really, really appreciate it if you would come. You know, so I could have someone to hand out with rather than listening to Mother and her friend talk about all the adventures they had when they were younger. One can only sit through the same story so many times without losing interest and falling asleep." Trunks ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of annoyance. "I've tried getting out of these things, but nothing short of a global disaster can stop Mother dearest and her social planning."

Akira chuckled. "Of course I'll come. It sounds like your mother's friends are interesting. Would I know any of them?"

Yeah, interesting. Trunks shrugged. "I doubt it. It'll be darling Mother and Father, Goku and company, Krillin and his family, Piccolo, Roshi…," Trunks continued to name the group that had been together since before Trunks was born, plus the few who had wormed their way in over the years.

As Seventeen heard the names, he felt a growing sense of foreboding. No matter how different this world was, he was certain that he had encountered most of them in the past. They probably would not appreciate seeing him here, with Trunks. Still, seventeen years or so had passed since then. That, coupled with Seventeen's appearance change, should prevent anyone from recognizing him. He would just have to be on his best behavior and not kill anyone, which could jog memories of the genocidal android that they had fought. Seventeen noticed offhandedly that Trunks was still talking. "Well, I guess I'll just meet them all tomorrow."

Trunks grinned gratefully. "Thank you. The party starts at six, but people will probably start showing up around four. Just get there whenever you can." Akira's presence would make the party much more bearable. Perhaps Trunks could even enjoy himself. The thought made him smirk in disbelief. The smirk turned in to an actual smile when he looked outside. The storm had subsided, leaving behind windswept debris and flooded valleys. Above the mountaintops lurked the ghost of a rainbow.

Akira followed his gaze. "That was quick. The weather around here can be very temperamental. Come on, let's go home." With that, they donned their clothes, still damp from the rain, and took off. The sun shone lazily, as if it had enjoyed its nap during the storm and resented being woken up so soon. It dried their clothes slightly as they flew. Trunks was grateful for the warmth the rays brought. Now that the storm was over, the peace of the time on the river returned. Trunks silently promised to come back here as often as possible. Training with Akira was the most fun he had had in ages. Even the rain and the forbidding prospect of tomorrow's party could not ruin Trunks' mood. It was wonderful having a friend with whom he could simply be himself.

Someone he could trust.

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I finally finished this chapter! I hope you like it, dear readers. Oh, quick question: Is the way I switch between saying 'Seventeen' and 'Akira' confusing? If it is, let me know in a review. Also, leave any comments, compliments, questions, criticisms, or suggestions. I love reading reviews and would love to hear from you!

Until we meet again,

Shadow


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